


What has been forgotten

by TheEarLofGrey



Series: An unusual redemption. [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: mentions of child abuse, slight mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12125085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEarLofGrey/pseuds/TheEarLofGrey
Summary: Rosalind Trevelyan has led an outwardly charmed life but Nightmares have always been under the surface and The Fade has a way of bringing out that best left forgotten. Oneshot.





	What has been forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure about this one. This is a new style for me but I couldn't help but wonder what traumas a nobel Trevelyan that wasn't a mage could go through and then I remember the back story I gave my canon. Enjoy!

“Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders you should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one that grows stronger from your fear is me. But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.”  
-Nightmare demon to Inquisitor Trevelyan.

xxxx

Rosalind remembers the first time she felt fear, as clear as day, despite it having been fifteen years ago, a lifetime really, perhaps two considering all that has happened to her. She and her sister had been playing in the gardens of the Trevelyan estate whilst their brothers had their ‘proper warrior lessons’ (oh, how Rosalind had wanted to join in, even then), it was some silly little game involving Grey Wardens and Princesses and High Dragons and some other draft nonscence. Cecilia was the princess and she, Rosalind (although she had been Rosie then) was the Grey Warden protecting her whilst their nannies and governesses looked on in amusement. Just as the Grey Warden vanquished the High Dragon (Serah Jonathan from the guard who had bravely volunteered to be at the receiving end of Rosalind’s sharpened stick ) Cecilia flailed her arms about in faux fear.  
The day was saved.  
That was until her sister produced fire from her hands.  
The next few days were a blur that turned into a week that was punctuated by screams, first the nannies and governesses as they called for Bann Trevelyan then by Cecilia’s in the middle of the night when the Templars came for her.  
Her father, blinded by hate and his pious intent, had sent for Templars from the Ostwick Circle. Only these were clearly not her grandfather’s men. They were cruel in their heavy handedness and clearly saw no wrong in perverting the Maker’s messages. But worse still was her father, who returned his youngest daughter’s cries for help with an indifferent smack that caused her to fall down the stone stairs and land on her left arm and break it in what Rosalind learned later was three separate places and so badly that it never fully healed.  
And all Rosalind could do was watch in muted horror until her oldest brother Maxwell came and quietly lead her back to her bedroom and told her to forget about the incident and comforted her until she fell into uneasy sleep.  
And, when she rose the next day, alone in the bedroom she had once shared with her sister she found herself unable to.  
Rosie, and her innocence, died that fateful night.

xxxx

The next time Rosalind felt fear, several years later, it was in a more abstract form, for the unknown is truly terrifying. It started, as most memories involving her father seem to, in a screaming fit. Her arranged marriage, the very reason for her existence, had fallen through. Her betrothed had been sent to the Chantry owing to a ‘personality fault’. The Vael family no longer had any available sons and Bann Trevelyan was livid that he had lost the most important political alliance he could imagine.  
And Rosalind, Rosalind was numb with trepidation over the loss of her future and all the opportunities opened to her.  
And so her parent’s ‘passionate discussion’ (for they did not argue) was lost to her. The only person she heard was her grandfather, Ostwick Circle’s Knight Commander and Rosalind’s only link to her dearly beloved sister, spoke and asked Rosalind her own opinion.  
And Rosalind, kind and dutiful, said she would allow the Maker to decide her path for her. Her grandfather chuckled kindly and said he did not ask the Maker and Rosalind responded accidently with an equally sarcastic remark about how he would be praying if he did.  
And it was for this comment that she found herself sent to her room with only a servant’s meal for dinner.  
And once again Rosalind found herself awake during the middle of the night, however, this time she found herself in the library, reading her late grandmother’s vast collection of history textbooks and absorbed in their content.  
This was her calling, she decided, she would go to Orlais and study history at their University, she could make an actual difference. If all children were a gift to the parents from the Maker then she was supposed to be a gift because of her intelligence, not her gender. Her mind was filled with ideas from her childhood and her own future spreading out in front of her as the past filled the pages in front of her.  
Her father did not see this himself but Rosalind was insistent and, for once, tempered in her pestering and waited for her chance to strike. The next time her grandfather visited it was with several other Chantry officials and allies, including several from Orlais, and Rosalind asked her father again, this time quoting scripture at him asking why she could not study when it was not only the Maker’s will but also His greatest blessing. This earned not only the agreements of those present but also her grandfather’s approving nod and a warm smile (the real reward, if Rosalind was honest) and one, the First Enchanter from Montsimmard complimented her ferocity and said she would gladly arrange her sponsorship herself.  
From that day on Rosalind, the dutiful daughter became Rosalind, the scheming scholar and brutal bard.

xxxx

It was nearly a decade later that she felt true fear again as supposed to the exhilarating rush from the Great Game. And truthfully the last few years, following her sister’s death in Kirkwall, all she had felt was the numbness of overwhelming grief.  
There were pointed whispers in Val Royaux’s market place, as there tended to be, after all pointed whispers were as much as part of the music of Val Royaux as much as the loud Chants being sung from the Chantry. You either learnt to drown them out or used them to your advantage. And Rosalind, being in the profession she was, had long since learned which she needed and which were useless prattle that served neither her nor her employer. The hiss of the whispers told her these were malicious and dangerous in nature.  
Her kind of rumours, then.  
And so she listened in, and it was a good thing she did for the rumours were about her and her family.  
Specifically they were about her sister, how she had been a mage, how her father had cast her out to Kirkwall. How she died in the fighting when it started. How she had been singing, drinking and dancing as her sister lay bleeding on the streets of Kirkwall.  
And, instead of regret and remorse she felt only anger and fear. Anger at whoever had betrayed her confidence and fear over her own political safety.  
So she did what she viewed as necessary, she swallowed her pride and bowed as she begged for forgiveness.  
For fear, as Rosalind had long since learned, was a powerful motivator and tool to be wielded. And she was under no illusion that she deserved this reminder of her own part in history, despite the fact she should be apart from it.  
So she went to the Conclave under the unofficial orders of Divine Justinia V herself, through her Left Hand, and reminded herself to squash her fear and instead use them to her advantage. As any good bard should.

xxxx

And then her memory went blank and she fell through the Fade with no memory of how or why this happened.  
Even a good bard would feel fear over that. After all, anyone would be terrified if the Right Hand of the Divine pointed a sword at their throat and demanded answers.

xxxx

All she could remember was her fear as she stared down the Nightmare demon, barely aware of the presence of those around her and tried desperately to remember all she had been taught, not to avoid her fear but to use it to her advantage. To take it and ensure that her daggers struck faster, that her cuts were deeper.  
And so she mustered her courage and, with only one noticeable casualty, she and her companions were able to escape the place of nightmares and leave the Fade relatively unharmed.  
And, as she did the would be Princess was able to save The Grey Wardens.  
Not at all bad for ‘some silly little girl’.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave Kudos and comments, if you wish too!


End file.
